You May Forget Me
by LiveGrenadeSerenade
Summary: Matthew is tired of being just somebody for Ivan to come home too after work. Maybe cooking a big Russian meal will get his attention? RusCan, first Hetalia fic please R&R.


Woo, I suck at summaries. My first Hetalia story, please R&R.  
>I don't own Hetalia, or 1212 Prelude, by AFI, whose lyrics are used.  
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"_This is what I brought you, this you can keep.  
>This is what I brought, you may forget me.<br>I promise to depart, just promise one thing.  
>Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep.<em>"

Matthew could feel the morning sunlight on his face, but he refused to open his eyes to welcome it. He wasn't ready for it to be morning yet. Really, without his pet polar bear- _Kumatchi?-_ pawing at his face and demanding food at the begginning of each day, Matthew had hardly any motivation to get out of bed.

And of course, he never took Kumajirou over to Ivan's place.

Groaning stubbornly, Matthew rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face deep into a pillow to escape the harsh morning light. He could feel the huge emptiness of the bed despite himself. He knew that Ivan had probably left quite a long time ago. As it was, Matthew had never once woken up with Ivan still there. '_Probably gone before the sun rises,'_ he thought to himself. '_And I don't think those curtians are open when we go to bed. I think he opens them before he leaves, just to bug me.'_

Of course, Ivan was just working hard on improving the state of his country. Russia was going through a lot of developments right now, and Ivan was always swamped with paperwork and conferences. "I have a lot of work to do for my country," Ivan had told him. "So I must leave very early each morning. But I am very quiet. I will not wake you."

Matthew probably wouldn't have really minded being woken up, but of course he hadn't said that.

His face still buried in the mattress, Matthew took a long, deep breath. Ivan's smell was still there, strong and sharp. Like vodka. Sometimes Matthew would take a shot of the stuff in the morning, just to keep a part of Ivan with him for a while. It burned and troubled his stomach, especially when he didn't bother to eat anything first. But it created a pool of warmth in the pit of his belly which lasted a while, and occasionally he could catch a whiff of it on his own breath, and it always made him smile. Because really, Ivan didn't smell like vodka. Vodka smelled like Ivan.

With a grunt, Matthew suddenly pushed himself up, away from the mattress and the lingering smell of the man who was no longer there. He twisted and kicked away the blankets that were twined around him, and threw his legs over the side of the bed. The first thing he did when he was up was to cross the room to the large bedroom window. He blinked at the shadows there, shadows of the sunflowers Ivan had growing around the other side of the window. They bobbed at him in greeting. Matthew yanked the curtians closed.

It went like this. Every few days or so- usually once or twice a week- Ivan would message Matthew to be at his house. Matthew would go there a couple hours before Ivan himself got home, and wait for the Russian to return from work. Usually he would entertain himself by watching hockey on tv, or by straightening up things up around the house if they seemed out of order. Ivan was away from his own house so much that sometimes the housework fell behind. The important thing was that when Ivan came home, they would spend the evening together. And of course, go to bed together. And in the morning, Ivan would be gone before the young Canadian could pry his eyes open to the daylight. And so Matthew would collect his things and leave, until next time.

None of the countries knew about their "relationship", if that's what it could be called. Ivan had expressed the need for covertness, he said because the other nations might give Matthew a hard time over forming any kind of ties with the former communist country. "Also, I do not wish to deal with that idiot brother of yours," he had added as an afterthought. At first Matthew had disliked the feeling of secrecy, feeling that maybe Ivan was just embarassed, or maybe it just didn't mean that much to him to be bothered. But on some level Matthew had decided that since he was practically invisible, maybe it just made sense his relationships(?) should be too.

But last night, after arriving at Ivan's house and sitting down on his couch to relax, Matthew had become restless. He didn't want to watch tv. He didn't want to clean up things that probably didn't even really need cleaning. He wanted to _do_ something. He wanted Ivan to _see _him, not just as someone who would wait up for him while he was at work, so he would have someone to sleep with someone that night. But as someone_ important._ Someone useful, who could do things for him. Who he could have a real relationship with. But what? What could Matthew do that would seem even the smallest bit interesting to someone like Ivan?

And as he lay sprawled out on the leather couch, staring at the ceiling high aboce him, it occured to him. He could cook. Thanks to his French upbringing, he could cook fairly well. He bet he could even make some pretty decent Russian food, if he tried. He'd been in Ivan's kitchen, seen it was well stocked with food Ivan probably didn't bother with. Matthew had hardly ever seen him eat at home, and when he had, it was something simple. But what if he came home to a really big, Russian meal? One he hadn't even asked for? Matthew began to get excited. _'It's six o'clock. Ivan gets home around nine, that's plenty of time. There'll be cookbooks in there, it won't take too long.'_ And with that, Matthew bolted to the kitchen.

It turned out he was capable of fixing several traditional Russian foods. Borscht, pirozhki, kholodets. Matthew worked steadily in the kitchen as the hours ticked by. He was getting more and more excited as he thought of Ivan coming home, of the surprise on his face. The food would still be cooking but Ivan could help him set things up. Maybe this would make him see the Canadian in a new light. Maybe it wouldn't be so easy for him to leave before the light of the morning, without even saying goodbye.

Nine o'clock came. Matthew sat in a chair in the front hall, the first thing Ivan would see when he came in the door. An hour passed. Matthew took the food out and prepared the table. He was a little worried. Ivan had never been late before. But the young nation remained optimistic. There was probably just some extra work to be done. Another hour passed. The food got cold. Matthew sat in the chair and stared at the door. He wondered if he had gotten the date wrong. He checked the message on his phone. No, it was today. So where was Ivan?

Eleven o'clock came and went. Matthew was up and pacing around the house now. He wasn't even aware he was doing it, he was busy thinking frantically. What was going on? Should he just leave? Had something happened to Ivan? _Could_ something happen to Ivan? He was only the biggest country in the world. And he carried that damn pipe with him. But still. Anything was possible...

A little after midnight, the door banged open. Matthew almost didn't hear it over his own panicked thoughts. He stumbled into the front hall, his heart beating erratically. Ivan stood framed in the doorway. Most people probably wouldn't have been able to tell, but Matthew could see. He was drunker than hell.

Ivan stepped in, shutting the door behind him. His eyes stayed on Matthew the whole time. There was a warmth in them, and the Canadian wondered how much of it was vodka. "Ah, Comrade Matvey. Pleased to see me, da?"

Matthew stood leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. He felt almost drunk himself. His legs were weak and his head was swimming. "It's midnight."

Ivan chuckled as he shrugged off his coat. "Forgive me. Some regulations were passed today that will greatly improve the state of my country. So I stopped on the way home for a little... celebration. I may have lost track of time."

Matthew was too busy going numb to wrestle with the fact that Ivan had driven home in this state. "I've been waiting here for six hours."

Ivan was able to look somewhat apologetic. "I remembered you would be here, Matvey. I simply did not think to call."

"I see." Matthew paused for a moment, then straightened and went over to his boots in their place against the wall. He sat in the chair he'd been waiting in earlier, and began pulling them on.

Ivan watched, his expression part curiousity and part amusement. "What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving," the Canadian stated simply as he laced up his shoes. "I'm not just going to sit around and wait forever so that you can come home whenever you feel like. I'm not your lapdog."

Ivan stood by with his arms crossed, watching. He was smirking. "Da, is that so? It was beginning to seem that way. You have been here every other time."

"Yes, when you arrived when you promised you would, and you were sober." Matthew stood and went to move by Ivan to get his coat. From nowhere Ivan's hand clamped on his shoulder, and the young nation paused. He did not look at the other, he kept his eyes trained on his coat.

"You will not be going anywhere." Drunk or not, Ivan's voice held no slur. It was as deep and strong as always.

There were few times when Matthew felt like openly defying someone. He was shy, and soft-spoken. Timid, even. But this was one of those times. "Watch me."

The hand pulled him back, whirling Matthew around to face his Russian counterpart. He tried to still sidestep away, but Ivan's powerfull hand found his chest and pushed him back in one easy shove. Matthew's back hit the wall with just enough force to shove a small grunt of air from his throat. He was somehow able to keep his head from smashing backwards as well. But the young Canadian found himself trapped between an unforgiving wall and a strong Russian hand still pressing into his chest.

Ivan stepped forward to tower over the other, chuckling low in his throat. The sound was only a bit off from his usual _kol kol kol._ Matthew looked up at him, hoping he didn't look as powerless as he felt. He tried to raise his voice but could not. "You're drunk."

Ivan only smirked wider before decending his face upon the other's. Matthew considered turning his face away at the last second but did not. Even if he did, even if he wanted to, the hand was still there, pressing into his chest. There was no escaping Ivan.

As their lips clashed and the kiss intensified, Ivan's other hand crept up inside Matthew's shirt, softly exploring his ribs and stomach. The other hand on his chest slid up to wrap around the back of Matthew's neck, soft but dangerous, like the coil of a snake that can tighten it's grip at any moment.

From there, everything started to blur. Matthew couldn't reacall how they got to the bed in Ivan's room, if he was led or carried. He couldn't remember Ivan stripping off his boots, the ones he had pulled on to walk away from Ivan and his drunken arrogance. But they were gone, and then his shirt, and then...

It just seemed that one moment he was stuck between Ivan and the wall, and the next he was stuck between Ivan and the bed. Except it wasn't really stuck when you wanted to be there. And he did. Because when the taller nation was touching him, when he was choking on the taste of vodka (_the taste of Ivan really_), everything else was forgotten. The food was forgotten, left where it waited on the table. The wait was forgotten. Being invisible was forgotten.

Ivan smiled down at him, his shirtless frame leaning over Matthew's, white muscles outlined in the dark. "Did you miss me, little Matvey?"

Matthew stared back into the amethyst eyes that watched him so intently. "I waited, didn't I?" He knew that wasn't a real answer, but in a way it answered everything.

Ivan simply chuckled. "Da, you did..." He leaned in, and Matthew was quickly lost in his own kind of drunkeness.

After getting dressed and making the bed (he didn't know why he bothered, other than it was just in his nature), Matthew strolled through the large, empty house and made his way into the kitchen. All the food he had prepared and laid out still sat where he'd left it, untouched. Matthew wondered if Ivan had even seen it. Maybe he didn't bother with going into the kitchen in the mornings, maybe he ate after he left, or maybe he just didn't eat. Or maybe he had seen it? And maybe he'd been at least a tiny bit touched by Matthew's thoughtfulness, perhaps even guilty? Now Matthew was just dreaming.

He thew all the food away. He supposed some of it could've been saved, but there hardly seemed to be a point to it now. The food had been meant as a pleasant surprise for Ivan when he came home, a signal that maybe Matthew could be more than just someone who would wait for him at home some days so they could sleep together that night. Now the only way it would surprise him was by rotting on his table. After he had disposed of the food and put away the dishes, he left the kitchen, passing by the rows of vodka lined along the shelves. He was going to get his coat, and then he was leaving.

There was always next time.

"_This is what I thought, I thought you'd need me.  
>This is what I thought, so think me naive.<br>I promised you a heart you promised to keep.  
>Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep.<em>"

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>Reviews make me happy. oWo<p> 


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